Broken Where We Stand
by Vitacazzo
Summary: Basically the story of Malik's whole life from being 10 years old and joining the assassins. Contains some spoilers from AC1 and a few from Revelations. Ridiculously canonical (I have done my homework to the extreme) but still my own story. PAIRING SPOILER IN 3...2...1...Altmal/Maltair/MalikxAltair/AltairxMalik. Rating will be changed to mature later on.
1. Chapter 1

A.N. - Okay, where to start? I will not be writing the summary or warnings, pairings, etc anymore because they will all be in the actual story summary itself. I will, however, be writing disclaimer in this chapter which applies throughout the entire story. Hope this is alright, and sorry for any confusion as this is not my usual writing style.

Also, I am really sorry for anyone who has been following Non Est Verum, I will be continuing that story but I've sort of lost interest in it lately so my updates are going to be a lot less frequent. The only reason I'm writing this story is because I read "The Story Of A Rafiq" and "And When the Earth Shall Claim Your Limbs" and I am not afraid to admit that I cried like a total baby at the latter. I wanted to write something similar because, let's be honest, there can never be too much Altmal. And I just don't think that there are enough tender love stories that show character progression and create scenes with powerful emotion and detail.

I won't lie, I'm not exactly the best writer in the world but I've decided that this story, this pairing, is worth spending hours correcting my grammar and cramming detail into chapters, showing not telling and all the other crap I've totally forgotten from English Language in High School lol.

I'm starting college in September where I'll be studying English Language so although I won't have as much time to write, hopefully what I do write will be my best work yet (not hard when you consider my other work lol)

Anyway, this is probably the longest author's note in FanFiction history so I'll wrap it up now, enjoy! :3

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 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Assassin's Creed, any of the character's or the plot of AC1. If I add any OC's, they will play minor roles and I will notify you.

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Malik Al-Sayf was just like any other ten year old boy. He had bright eyes and a cheery smile, he was fit and healthy and loved to tease his younger brother. He laughed when he was happy and cried when he was sad, absolutely normal in every way. Except, unlike other ten year old boys, Malik was born into the brotherhood, which meant that he was destined to become an Assassin, whether he wanted to or not, and oh, did he want to.

He was determined to follow in his father's footsteps and become a Veteran Assassin, just like him. He was going to slay all of the Templars before they knew what had hit them and he was going to do it with style, just like his father.

Yes, his future was planned out for him, he had a destiny which he could not escape, but did he care? No, no he did not.

Tomorrow was to be his first day of Assassin training, he couldn't wait to be the one creating echoes that carry down the mountain to the village below with his sword in the training ring, to learn to fight with throwing knives and daggers, and most of all, to wield a hidden blade like his father and kill his first Templar.

The boy grinned at the thought, to fight and win against a Templar was the essence of what it was to be an Assassin, their goal, their purpose, and he, Malik Al-Sayf, was going to be a part of that starting tomorrow morning.

He looked up at the ceiling of his two story house - his father was a high ranking Assassin so he was able to provide for his family. He smiled to himself, counting down the seconds until morning, kept awake by the excitement of it all. An hour later and he had fallen asleep, smile still in place, with his fingers strategically placed infront of his face to count the seconds.

He led on his side now, as was his natural sleeping position, much unlike his father who slept on his back, shoulders tensed as if ready to strike at any second. Malik slept peacefully knowing that, if some idiotic Templar without a brain decided to break into their house at night and tried to attack him, his father would spring to action at the slightest sense of movement, hidden blade at the ready, and it would only take a second before that blade was buried in the attacker's neck.

The next morning, Malik was out of bed at the crack of dawn, dressed and ready for the day ahead. He ran to his father's room, thinking, not for the first time, how lucky he was that his father was so skilled that he could afford a house with multiple rooms, unlike most other houses in the village of Masyaf. He felt the urge to jump on his father's bed and shout for him to wake up but decided against it. He was a man now, or at least he would be soon.

He braced himself and shook his father's shoulder lightly. The man leapt out of bed and held his hidden blade where Malik's throat would have been if he hadn't ducked moments beforehand. Faheem Al-Sayf cleared his throat and apologised as he retracted his blade and offered a hand to his son who was cowering on the floor. Malik declined and pulled himself up, men didn't need help.

His father looked over at his mother's side of the bed. It was empty as it had been for some time now. The healers had done what they could with their herbs and their salves but his mother's condition had not improved so she slept away her final days in the comfort of their family home. Malik had been distraught when she had passed away, had re-considered his wish to be an Assassin, did he really want to deal the kind of pain and heartbreak he felt to the families of other men, Templar or not?

As the months after her death passed, he had decided that that was not his choice to make as it was required of him to put his faith in the brotherhood and the choices it made. Besides, who would be mad enough to marry and have children with a Templar? Malik doubted that anyone would really miss any of those monsters. But then again, couldn't the same be said for Assassins? He decided not to dwell on that, he knew that a lot of people had bad impressions of Assassins, an occupational hazard, but surely people realised that most Assassins were born into the brotherhood as Malik had been and that, therefore, it was not uncommon for them to have families.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and followed after his father who led him downstairs to the rug in their sitting room. He sat and gestured for Malik to do the same. The boy complied and stared intently at his father, waiting for what was surely going to be a piece of parting wisdom for his first day of training.

The man inhaled slowly through his nose, straightening his back, and exhaled through his mouth, slumping back down. He repeated this process several times, keeping his eyes on his son who began to grown impatient.

Finally, the man spoke, "I have seen a lot in my time upon this earth, I have seen life and death, have held each in my hand, and dealt the latter frequently to those who deserved it". He breathed again, easier this time, softer and bore his gaze into Malik. "However, if you were to ask me what the greatest thing I have witnessed in my life has been, I would not hesitate to answer the time I have spent watching you and your brother grow up. You are becoming a young man now and are to be given responsibility accordingly." Malik leant forward, hanging on to every word that fell from his father's mouth. "And so, I believe it is time that I pass on the responsibility of looking after Kadar to you. You are to begin your training today and soon you will grow to be strong, use that strength to protect your brother. No doubt he will also train as an Assassin but nevertheless, you will always be his brother and your loyalty is to him above all else. Promise me Malik, let no harm come to yourself or Kadar, this is your burden to bear now, as a man."

At these words, Malik fought the urge to jump out of his seat and hug his father for trusting him so but he knew that that was not proper so he settled for a polite smile when his father put his hand on his shoulder. But his eyes showed all the true pride he felt as they shone for all the world to see and his father smiled back to him.

"I promise, thank you father" he replied, not trusting himself to say anything more, knowing that that was enough.

As if on cue, his younger brother, Kadar, fell into the room, tripping over a basket by the doorway. His face coloured as he realised he'd been caught eavesdropping and he apologised, seeming genuinely ashamed of himself. Malik only smiled, knowing that this was what he had to put up with from now until his death, and it would be his death, he would keep his father's promise forever, he would not allow any harm to befall Kadar while he still lived.

He opened his mouth to scold Kadar, as was his duty now, but closed it upon hearing commotion in the street outside his house. He scrambled to get up and out of the door and fell over twice in his excitement, once tripping over the rug and again opening the door.

He fell out into the street and looked up with a scowl at the sound of laughter. A man in white was on a horse, chuckling to himself as he eyed Malik up and down. As Faheem came out of the house and picked his son up of the ground, he greeted the man as a brother and Malik immediately dropped the scowl, this man was an Assassin and deserved his utmost respect.

"So" began the man, "this is the best that the son of the great Faheem Al-Sayf has to offer?"

Malik bowed his head and apologised for his clumsiness before bidding his father and brother goodbye and following the man and several dozen or so other boys up the slope to Masyaf castle, home of the assassins.

They walked in silence, except for the odd comment made by the man on the horse about how many recruits there were this year and how much the boys were sure to enjoy training.

The trek up the mountain didn't last long, the sun hadn't moved noticeably in the sky by the time they reached the top, and yet the walk seemed to take the better part of an entire day. The anticipation was growing, each boy was glancing about nervously, fiddling with their thumbs or gawping at the sight of the huge castle before them. Every boy, except one. Malik looked over to see a boy in brown pants and a white, loose shirt who was walking confidently, shoulders back, chest out, towards the front of the castle.

Deciding that he was much more grown up than these other boys, he drifted over to the other boy who said nothing, only glanced at him as he continued walking. The man in front stopped and dismounted. He told the boys to stay where they were as he went to take his horse to the stables.

Malik took this moment to take a close-up look at the young boy next to him. He noticed that the boy had pale white skin which was strange, and he hadn't seen him before, clearly he wasn't from around here, and yet he seemed so confident and knowing. He eyed the boy and found himself staring at his eyes, they were a fierce golden colour, brimming with intensity and he found it hard to look away. It took him a moment to realise that said eyes were staring straight back at him.

Embarrassed, he looked away, craning his neck to look up at the castle, amazed at how tall it was but he wouldn't make the mistake of showing his amazement and looking like an awed child. He lowered his head and looked back at the boy who was still staring at him. He stared back, not sure whether he should blink or not. Just as his discomfort reached it's limit, their guide returned and gave him an excuse to look away. When he glanced back, the boy was looking at the man who was leading them inside the castle.

They entered the huge archway that was the door and climbed a set of stairs before they were led through a smaller doorway into what could only be described as the most beautiful place Malik had ever seen.

He was standing in a garden, although really, it deserved a better title than "garden", the word "paradise" leapt to mind and he decided on that, this place was paradise. He and the other boys were surrounded by women who lay about in leisure in this space filled with the greenest grass and the most beautiful and exotic flowers he had ever seen. In the center of the paradise garden was a fountain filled with clear, pure, flowing water, he didn't doubt it to be the cleanest water in existence. And in the middle of the fountain sat a statue of a beautiful woman, more beautiful even than the real women that surrounded him, he realised that this was the first time he'd seen a grown woman without a head scarf and that, for some reason, made him feel more unsure than anything else.

He turned to face the guide who seemed to be measuring the reaction on the young boy's faces with a certain degree of smugness, as if this was the norm for any high ranked Assassin and yet, his father had never spoken to him before of such a place as this. Then again, his father rarely spoke of work and even less so around Malik.

As Malik returned from his thoughts, he realised that they had been joined by someone else. He felt this man's presence before he saw him, felt the power that radiated off him and the respect felt in turn by their guide, the two men that had appeared to guard the doorway, and the women of the garden.

He looked over to see an old man, possibly in his 70's or 80's who had one green brown eye and one a misty grey-ish white colour. He wore Assassin robes with three large belts with a black cowl and a black, heavily decorated djellaba. He also had a short, black beard that was beginning to grey.

The man, the leader from what Malik could gather, looked over them each in turn, that one working eye glistening with knowledge and secrets.

Everything was silent for a moment before the man spoke, "I am Rashid ad-Din Sinan, but you will refer to me as 'Al Mualim'", he paused, gauging the reactions that were a mix of respect and awe, this was _the_ Al Mualim, mentor of the assassins. He continued, "Assassins live by a certain creed, these are the rules that govern our lives and our actions. The creed has three tenets, three rules which an assassin must follow."

Malik thought back to what little he'd heard of his father's work and remembered hearing of the creed before but couldn't remember hearing of its tenets. He looked over at the pale boy with the intense eyes and watched him as Al Mualim, the mentor, spoke.

"The first tenet is: stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent", Malik nodded at this as if it was obvious and he'd known it all along. Surprisingly enough, he found the mysterious boy mouthing along to the mentor's words, clearly he knew the creed and its tenets well. "The second tenet is as follows: hide in plain sight". Again, Malik nodded, this made sense as assassins are supposed to be discreet, masters of disguise. Al Mualim continued, "And the third, and most important tenet, is: never compromise the brotherhood" Malik nodded for a third time as the boy mouthed the words of the creed once again.

The guide from before stepped forward and spoke, "Anyone who takes issue with the creed or any of its tenets should speak now and they will be spared training and will be escorted back to their home, they will have the option to train as an Assassin next year instead"

Some of the boys bristled and looked around at each other to see if anyone was going to back out. Malik just kept looking at the pale young boy who was the only person still paying attention to the master. Malik decided to follow his example and stood straight and looked at the mentor.

Al Mualim nodded at the guide who spoke for the final time, "Very well, as of now, each and every one of you are official Novice Assassins", he smiled at the sea of pre-teen grins and murmurs before him.

They were led out of the garden, down the stone steps and out into the courtyard where the air seemed imperceptibly clearer than it had done before. They were taken to the left of the castle and through a small, guarded door that led to a spiral staircase. They climbed it and followed their guide down a maze of corridors that Malik didn't bother trying to map out right now, he'd have plenty of chance to do so over the coming years.

Finally, they were shown to a simple brown door that looked much the same as the dozens of others that they had passed along the way and Malik hoped they weren't expected to remember the way here.

Inside was an old man with a short grey beard and lines on his stern face that betrayed every smile he'd ever shown. Clearly, he was just putting on a show for the new recruits. "Enter, enter, take a seat", Malik looked around to see a room lined with bookshelves with a long table in the center with cushioned stools strategically placed around it. As he stared at the room and pondered as to how much knowledge was contained in those hundreds of books, he realised he was the only person still standing. He quickly walked over to the only spare seat which happened to be quite near the door, next to the mysterious, pale boy.

The old, bearded man told them of his name, Marab Abdu - he was to be their teacher of everything but combat. At first, this confused the young Al-Sayf, wasn't the job of an Assassin to kill Templars, what else did they need to know besides combat? But he soon found out about all the other jobs and skills available to an assassin. There were scribes, potters, cartographers, informers, teachers and many more positions besides field assassin.

By the end of the lesson, he had learnt some of the history between the Templars and the Assassins and some of the reasons behind the war between them. He'd also learnt the name of the mysterious, pale boy when Syd Marab had asked each of the boys in turn what their names were. Admittedly, he hadn't paid much attention to any of the other names, but once their teacher turned his eyes onto the boy, it seemed that the whole room went quiet as the other boys noticed him for the first time.

His voice was quiet but clear and seemed to echo around the room, there was power in this voice and if asked, Malik was sure he would find himself doing whatever its owner commanded without thinking about it, "I am Altair Ibn-la'ahad, son of Umar".

All was silent for a moment longer before the room erupted into whispers and murmurs, Umar Ibn-la'ahad was perhaps, the greatest Assassin in all of Masyaf, perhaps all of the world. He had long ago reached the rank of Master Assassin - one of the youngest ever to reach it at the age of twenty-nine - and as such, commanded the greatest respect from all others. Could this skinny, pale-skinned boy really be the son of such a great Assassin?

Malik earned his own fair share of murmurs when he mentioned that he was the son of Faheem Al-Sayf. He glanced over at the boy, Altair, and was surprised to catch the hint of a smirk on the boy's face. He raised an eyebrow and looked back towards Syd Marab.

At the end of the lesson, their guide from before came back to escort them home. Many of the boys had acquainted themselves with one another or had already known each other before hand so they partnered up and chatted as they were led down to Masyaf village.

Malik felt like an outsider without someone to talk to so he looked around for anyone else who was walking on their own and wasn't really surprised to see the only person without a friend was Altair. He drifted over to him and attempted to strike up a conversation, "So, your the son of Umar?", he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Of course he was the son of Umar, he'd said so himself and he was probably sick of people asking him questions about his father. Malik should know this as he was fed up with the same thing and his father was no-where near as well known as Altair's.

He braced for some form of insult or to be told to go away but the boy only smiled and nodded politely. Malik still felt stupid for asking.

"Um, so" he struggled to think of something clever to ask, "did you enjoy today's lesson?", he supposed that would have to do.

The boy, Altair, simply shrugged and looked at him, "Did you?"

Malik fought the urge to shudder, a ten year old should not have a voice like that, it was too deep and authoritative and he found himself answering said voice before he'd even fully considered the question, "It was alright but I can't wait until we start combat training", he grinned and was relieved when Altair grinned back at him and was not surprised to see perfect, white teeth. It made sense, everything else about this boy was just too perfect, the way he walked, the way he spoke, why should his looks be any different?

He found himself staring now at the boys face, memorising its structure, his nose was bent downwards but it didn't look ugly at all, it gave him a defined face shape and made him look older somehow. His eyes were narrow and looking at him again but Malik didn't mind so much this time, it wasn't so uncomfortable the second time and he got the impression that Altair wasn't much for speaking anyway. He looked at the boy's hair and took in its dusty, light brown colour and the way it fell about his face in short locks, it suited him.

He continued to stare as he walked until Altair flung an arm in front of his chest to stop him from falling into a hay cart. He blushed and looked around, they were almost at his house. The young Al-Sayf remembered to thank the boy before bidding him farewell. It was awkward as they didn't hug or shake hands like any of the other boys, they just made eye contact and nodded at each other as Malik said, "See you tomorrow". And then he walked off in the direction of his house, tearing his eyes from the other boy and setting them on his brother who ran from their house into his arms.

"Brother! How was Assassin training? Did you kill any Templars?" he asked excitedly, bouncing up on down on the balls of his feet.

Malik laughed, "No, not yet but I'm sure we'll get to that first thing tomorrow", he chuckled at the wide eyed look on Kadar's face.

"But won't you get all bloody? And what if you're not good enough? I mean I know that you're ten now and you're a man and father said you have to look after me now but you don't really have to because you're busy with training and I can look after myself but not very well yet because those boys down the street stole my coins and I tried to fight them, I did, but they were really fast and they ran away and I chased them but I can't climb the buildings like they can and did you learn to climb buildings today because if you did then can you teach me, but only if you've got time and if you're allowed and what is Al Mualim like because father said-" Malik stopped listening at this point and just took his brother's hand and led him inside as he blabbered on.

He fetched them both a drink of water from and a loaf of bread and sat down with his brother in the sitting room, he finished his bread and looked over at his brother who hadn't touched his yet as he was still talking, "-don't you think, Malik?"

He paused and tried to focus on remembering what Kadar had said but it was no use, he hadn't been listening. His brother was still staring at him intently so he settled on a curt nod and a murmur of agreement, relieved when Kadar continued with "Yeah, I think so to, stupid village kids, just because they weren't born into the brotherhood"

Malik smiled and asked Kadar if he knew where their father was, surprised to find that he did not as Kadar usually knew everything that was going on, mainly because he eavesdropped on most conversations, with stealth like that, Malik was sure his brother would make a great Assassin in the coming years.

He decided his father was probably busy and that it would be best for him to stay and look after his brother until his father came back so he moved to the kitchen and started to prepare a basic stew for when his father returned, today he had become a man and he now had responsibility towards his family, or what was left of it.

That night, the two Al-Sayf sons ate the stew themselves - if the burnt vegetables and various chunks of meat floating in water could be called that. After Kadar had fallen asleep against his brother, Malik waited until the moon was at its highest point in the sky before deciding his father would not be back that night, and so he gathered his younger brother in his arms and laid him in his bed upstairs before settling into his own.

He knew his father would be back soon and didn't allow himself to worry, he curled up on his side before something clicked in his head, he was an Assassin now. He re-positioned himself so he lay on his back just as his father lay but relaxed his shoulders - he doubted he could get to sleep if he was tensing his muscles. He imagined the weight of a hidden blade on his arm and felt comforted, before he fell asleep, that pale face with light brown hair and intense golden eyes flashed infront of his closed eyes and he fell asleep with a smile on his face, looking forward to tomorrow.

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Okay so that's chapter one done.

A few quick notes:

Syd means "Mister" in Arabic so you'll probably see that crop up quite a lot throughout this story.

Also, in case you couldn't tell, Marab Abdu is my own character and he'll probably appear quite a bit too. Marab is arabic for teacher/tutor. I think it shows up as "educator" in google translate if you really want to check (don't know why you would).

I got the title from a poem I stumbled across about hate sex and falling out of love, it's quite beautiful really, even if the first line is "We fuck so hard".  
The poem is called "Peace of paper poetry - he's falling out of love with me" and yes I know they spelled "piece" wrong.

And I know that Rashid ad-Din Sinan was a title but I don't know Al Mualim's real name and besides, Rashid can be an Arabic name anyway so...yeah.

I'll start working on the next chapter tomorrow but I'm starting apprenticeship work on a farm soon so I'm not going to have as much time to work on this, sorry. But hey, I played AC1 for the first time about 2 years ago and I'm still obsessed with this pairing so it's not a question of if this gets finished, but when.

Nevertheless, I'll work on getting the next chapter out as soon as possible and for updates on this fic, you can follow my statuses on DeviantArt where I have the same username. I'm thinking of making a snapchat for this account, is that weird?

I think that's all for author's notes so I hope you enjoyed this chapter which, by the way, is the longest one I've ever written, the longest before this was 2,453 words and this is 5,118 words.

Let me know what you think of this chapter or any of the author's notes or what you're favourite breed of dog is, I don't care lol just acknowledge me please, my hands ache from writing this! (P.S. Loving the Czechoslovakian Wolfhounds :3)

Vale,

Vitacazzo


	2. Chapter 2

A.N. Okay so I didn't get quite the reaction I was hoping for to the last chapter, I guess people just don't bother with the longer fics. Still, I will not be dismayed, here is a second chapter and I've got to say I did not expect it to come out so fast, my hands are actually burning right now and I feel like it's only going to get worse as time goes on and this becomes one of those fics with over 50 chapters that takes two full days out of your life to read.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this chapter and don't forget to review and let me know if you like it, hate it, want to rub it all over your naked body, etc. And please let me know if you find any inconsistencies, or things that don't make sense/ grammar problems/ spelling, etc.

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Malik woke to find his brother had crawled into bed with him during the night and was fast asleep atop his chest. He tried to remove himself so he might ready himself for the day ahead but it was to no avail as he could not peel his brother off him.

"Kadar...", he shook him slightly, relieved when he stirred and shifted onto an unoccupied part of the bed. A thought struck him - if his father was not back by now, what was he going to do with Kadar while he was training all day?

He looked out of the small window to see the sun just beginning to rise and relaxed as he realised he had plenty of time to find a solution before class started. He shook his brother again, harder this time, and he woke up, squinting up at Malik who smiled down at him, "I've got to get ready for training, will you be alright by yourself for today?". Kadar paled, he hated being alone. Malik knew this but didn't really have much other choice short of taking Kadar with him which he was pretty sure was not allowed.

He sighed and went to his father's room, it was empty as he'd somehow known it would be. Kadar followed him into the room, confused, "Where is babaan?". Malik shrugged, he had no idea where their father was, "Malik...do I have to be alone today? Can't I come with you?", Malik fought the urge to laugh at the whiny, sleep-filled tone and shook his head.

"I'm sorry Kadar but this is how it has to be, just for today though, I promise", he wasn't entirely sure of that last part but it seemed to calm his brother down a bit so he let it go.

He splashed some water over his face from a bucket in his room and changed into some blue-grey pants and a tight-fitted, white shirt that opened at the top to reveal his neck and what was beginning to resemble chest hair which he was very proud of.

He was still waiting for chin hair and lip hair and all other manner of signs which would serve to prove how much of a man he was but there was nothing yet.

He prepared a loaf of bread for Kadar and some cold, left over stew from what he could scrape out of the pot from last night. He himself, went without the stew and just snacked on the tasteless bread. He ran out of the house with a large bucket and collected some water from the village well - better to do it early in the morning before the rush - and then jogged back to the house as best he could without spilling any of the water.

When he set the bucket down in their kitchen, he went back to his room, to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, where he found Kadar curled up, once again, on his bed. He shook his head, "What a burden my brother is to me", he smiled.

He sat on the end of the bed and stroked his brother's messy black clumps of hair for a while before he heard commotion in the streets as he had the day before and grinned, running off to meet with the guide and the boys, and Altair Ibn-la'ahad.

He took care this time when opening the door to ensure he did not fall on his face as he had last time, and closed it silently behind him so as not to wake his brother who was sure to become much less peaceful and much more panicky when he realised his brother was gone.

He joined the other boys and followed the guide in silence up the slope to the castle. He didn't bother looking around to find Altair - he could already feel him staring at the back of his head.

Once they reached the courtyard at the front of Masyaf castle, they were each handed a bundle of cloth from another assassin who had a grey scarf over the lower half of his face. They followed their guide over to the same doorway as last time but this time they turned through the first wooden door on their right.

"This is the room you will use from now on to get changed into your training robes before your lesson starts", stated their guide. Malik followed the other boys who filed into the room and marveled at the size, this single room consisted of a long corridor like space that broke off into rows of small box shaped rooms. He would have mistaken it for another hallway if the walls were not so short. The fact that they did not reach the ceiling was what told him that this huge space was just one room.

He followed example and took a room for himself as others were doing and assumed that he was supposed to get changed into the bundle of cloth he had been given which turned out to be his robes.

They consisted of a grey tunic with white, thigh length robes on top, grey-brown pants and dark brown boots. On top of the pile was a grey cowl and a short red sash. He pulled them all on and marveled at how well they fit before rejoining the group.

After the last of the boys was changed - a boy named Abbas who seemed to take his time in everything - they were led back out to the courtyard and down to the training ring where excitement broke out. Surely, they were to start learning combat techniques, perhaps they would be allowed swords and daggers to show their skill.

But apparently not as their guide laughed and informed them that novices were not allowed weapons of any kind, other than their fists. A few disappointed murmurs before the group lit up at the prospect of fist fights and hand to hand training. That was, until they were told they were not going to be training in combat of any kind today.

Confused, the boys remained silent, awaiting further instruction and wandering what, if not combat related, were they doing at the training ring.

As if he had read their minds, their guide spoke again, "We have limited space right now as our higher level recruits are using the inside training area, and so you will have to experience today's workout in the full heat of day...sorry"

Groans erupted from the group, the Syrian mid-day heat was relentless and harsh enough without exercise to further warm up their bodies. However, the idea of a workout intrigued them, was this how they were going to build their athletic Assassin figure?

Malik braced himself for the day ahead, deciding now that he was not going to be the first to fall down in exhaustion. He looked around to find Altair who seemed about as ready for the lesson as possible and decided that he was going to at least last as long as Altair - this boy who was perfect in every other way, surely beating him in endurance was an achievement in its own right.

Their workout was simple enough, it included an exercise that consisted of jumping and extending the legs and arms and then jumping and bringing them back in - he learnt this was called a "Jumping star". He had to do this forty times before moving onto the next exercise. In the next exercise, he had to jump onto and off of a wooden post ten times. Then he had to jog on the spot, lifting his legs high for a count of forty. Ant then he had to stretch his arms outwards while crouching against a post while counting to thirty - which hurt a surprising amount. After this, he had to lie on the floor and push himself up ten times, before crouching and jumping high into the air, arms outstretched a further ten times. Finally, he had to lie parallel to the floor and hold himself in place for a count of thirty before posing as a runner might and quickly jumping and switching his feet around in his stance twenty times.

By the time all this was over, he was out of breath, black spots appearing at the edges of his vision as his head pounded and he felt as though he was about to pass out. He glanced over at Altair to see how he was holding up to find him wearing a cool expression, sweating lightly but otherwise unfazed. He noticed that Altair was taking deep breaths through his nose, stood up straight while Malik was bent over, panting.

He fought back the urge to growl at Altair and the ease with which he seemed to complete such an exercise.

The guide waited for the last boy - again, that Abbas - to finish, before telling them all they were allowed a two minute break before performing the exercise again. The boys groaned but quietened down when they were each given a small skin of water which they were told they could keep.

As most boys guzzled down the whole skin, Malik realised that they were probably expected to make this last all day in the heat with their exercised so he only took a few small sips before sitting on a post and resting for a moment before they began part two.

After the second set of exercises, Malik felt sure he was going to pass out as he swayed slightly on his feet, trying to keep his balance while fighting the light feeling in his head. He was glad he saved his water as it didn't look like they were getting any more. The others moaned of how they weren't going to survive this as they had already drank their skins earlier. All the boys, except Altair, who had, of course, been clever enough to save his water as Malik had.

Altair caught Malik's eye as he glanced over at him and smirked at him. For some unknown reason, Malik suddenly began to feel incredibly competitive. Head problems gone, he immediately raced through his third set the moment their rest period was up - sweating profusely but not giving in. As he looked over and saw that the other boy was easily keeping up with him, he quickened his pace further and finished his third set in just under two minutes. And yet, somehow, as he looked over after his final exercise, panting, he saw the young Ibn-la'ahad already sat on a post, drinking the last of his water.

He kept his eyes on Malik and lowered the skin, smirking as he licked his lips. He stood and walked off to find their instructor to inform him that he had finished. Malik simply stood there and snarled, such _arrogance!_

He was sour for the rest of the day as they were allowed a small lunch inside the castle and were told that they were done for the day. He got changed into his ordinary clothes in the changing room, annoyed when he emerged to find Altair staring at him.

He had to admit, even he was confused by his behavior, he didn't normally consider himself to be a sore loser but there was something about this boy that brought out the worst in him.

Eventually, as they walked back down the mountain, he decided he was being idiotic. He walked over to Altair and cleared his throat, the other boy nodded so as to acknowledge his presence.

"So...how did you find today's class?", he asked. Not a bad question over all, and delivered with a clear voice with little evidence of the embarrassment he felt inside at having lost to this boy.

"It was enjoyable", replied the boy, matter-of-factly. Damn him. "And you?"

That caught him off guard, he wasn't expecting a question. Putting aside the assortment of curses he had thought up about the boy he replied with , "It was alright...bit sweaty though".

This earned him a small snort from Altair who flashed a grin at the floor before snapping back to a straight face as if he wasn't supposed to smile. He frowned, "Why do you have to keep such a straight face?"

This time it was Altair's time to frown, "It is not the job of an Assassin to amuse oneself nor engage in foolish behavior", he recited. Clearly, this boy had had a tough upbringing. His father was, after all, a master assassin. It was only natural that he would bring his son up to be respectable and honourable. But still...this wasn't right. Clearly Altair didn't believe this as he often smirked and had just laughed at Malik's joke. He had also engaged in a pointless competition which did nothing but tire him out faster.

He decided not to comment on that and simply shrugged, "sounds boring". He could have sworn he saw Altair smile at that but when he glanced at him, he had turned his head away.

They walked in silence a while longer until they reached Malik's house and he bid his new friend farewell, once again. As he turned to walk up the path that led him to his house, the door flung open and Kadar ran into his arms.

"Malik!", he cried, tears streaming down the side of his face.

The older Al-Sayf looked around to see that the group of trainees had already begun to move on so asked, "What is it Kadar? What's happened?".

He smiled, the boy was probably just scared at having woken up to find his brother missing.

"It's...it's babaan...he...I'm sorry..." he sobbed.

Malik's smile faded as he looked from his brother to the door to their house that was still swinging sightly after it had been forced open. He looked back at his brother again who had his face buried in Malik's shirt, "Wait here, Kadar".

He pried his brother off him and ran to the door, slamming it shut behind him as he found himself in the sitting room. He was surprised to see three high-ranking Assassins with white hoods sat opposite him with grim expressions.

"Young Al-Sayf", began the one in the middle, the clear leader, "you ought to sit down".

"I'll stand", he replied defiantly, though quickly remembered that he was talking to a man who was clearly respected amongst his peers and so added a "syd".

"Very well, I'm afraid I have some troubling news regarding your father", began the man. He paused to judge Malik's reaction, would he handle it better than his brother or would he, too, break down in tears.

"Continue", he prompted. Unsure of how to feel just yet.

The man sighed and complied, "Faheem was sent on a mission to rid us of a nobleman we believed to be working with the Templar order. We had no idea of just how deep the man was in the order until it was too late, turns out he had half an army at his command and unfortunately, your father was all that stood in their way..,"

'Even so...', thought Malik. His father was a Veteran Assassin, he was just three ranks below that of the man who sat before him, surely he could have taken on a force as meager as half a Templar army and emerged victorious, if a little tired. No, scratch that, if he'd had to work out as Malik did in his training, then something like a single-handed fight against even a hundred Templars wouldn't have even caused his father to break a sweat.

"There must have been over a thousand Templar soldiers..." the man continued. Malik choked, a thousand? He wasn't very good at maths but he knew that was a lot more than a hundred, much more than twice as many. "Perhaps two thousand..." mused the man.

Malik had heard enough. He turned on his heels and ran from the room, out of the front door - much as Kadar had done upon his arrival - and past his brother, down towards the village center.

He ignored his brother's calls to wait up as he pounded his feet against the ground, barely noticing where they were taking him until he stood near the gates to exit the village.

He wanted to, he just wanted to run through those gates and escape somewhere else. But he couldn't, he couldn't leave his brother behind. Not after he promised his father...

He looked around for somewhere he could be alone. He spotted a hay cart and leant up against it before sliding down to the floor, back against his home, his brother and the truth about his father while facing the fence that separated him from the rest of the world.

The eldest Al-Sayf - now the man of the family - curled up, tucking his head between his knees as he held them against his chest. He tried to cry but the tears just wouldn't come. His eyes felt dry, as did his throat and he felt the urge to scream out all his frustration and confusion, but all he could manage was a whisper, "Why father?...Why did you have to leave us like this?"

He stayed like this, an unstable ball of grief and fury, rocking himself back and forth. He could have stayed there forever, or at least until he died of thirst. But, apparently, it was not meant to be as he felt a presence behind him. He wanted to tell it to go away but lacked both the energy and the motivation.

"You know, you are supposed to hide _in_ the hay, not _next_ to it?".

He knew that voice. He turned around to find Altair smirking down at him, arms crossed, and scowled, couldn't he get any peace? "Not now, Altair... I've just been informed of my father's death."

Altair's arms dropped to his sides as he dropped down next to Malik and sighed, "I know. I overheard my father talking...I'm sorry".

"Overheard? Right.", Malik half-smiled, "And don't be, it isn't your fault that noble turned out to have an entire army under his command".

Altair smiled back at him, "No, perhaps not."

And then something happened that Malik really didn't expect. Altair leaned over and wrapped his arms around him, awkwardly. To say he was surprised would be an understatement - he got the impression that Altair wasn't really used to human contact.

Just as he was beginning to get comfortable, Altair moved away and coughed, embarrassed.

"Thank you...", began Malik.

"It just felt like the right thing to do." Replied the other boy.

They smiled at each other for a moment before Malik found himself laughing. Surprised, Altair backed up a little before prodding him in the leg, concerned for his friend. Malik laughed harder. A dry, breathless laugh, threatened by coughs caused by his dry throat.

"What is it? What's the matter with you?" asked Altair, handing the Al-Sayf his water pouch as he began to cough and splutter.

Malik gratefully accepted and gulped down a good half of its contents before passing it back and grinning, "I was just thinking about the look on that noble's face when he realises that Faheem Al-Sayf has a son who's also an Assassin. And how he's going to look when I drive a sword through his neck."

Altair gave him a funny look, "I hate to break it to you, but it's going to be a while before you're a proper Assassin. And, besides, Al Mualim has already sent a second team of Assassins after the noble-man - my father is among them, that's how I learned of the news about your father. Also, you do realise that Assassins are supposed to kill their targets with their hidden blades, not swords?"

Malik frowned for a minute before shrugging, "Then I'll wait until I'm a Veteran Assassin just like my father and I'll hunt down every single Templar that ever faced him and lived to tell the tale. And I don't know why but I've always liked the idea of using a sword."

"Really? Just a Veteran? I'd have thought you would be aiming for Master Assassin like me. And then we could face the Templars together and take them all down", he grinned. "And about the sword, it makes sense. After all, your name does literally mean 'The Master of the Sword'"

Malik thought about that and realised he was right. He'd never really thought about his name before but he supposed that that would be an accurate meaning. And as for the part about becoming a Master Assassin, he had to admit he rather liked the idea. "Very well. I shall become a Master Assassin with skills exceeding those of my father and shall make his name known, Templars will fear the name Al-Sayf." He looked Altair dead in the eye, "And the mere mention of the name 'Ibn-la'ahad' will cause grown men to let out womanly shrieks of horror."

They both laughed and joked for what seemed like hours behind the hay cart when, suddenly, Altair threw a hand over Malik's mouth mid-sentence.

Malik grumbled and bit at the other's fingers. Altair was unfazed and ignored the teeth that were now clamped firmly around his ring finger.

"Shhh", he whispered. "We are not alone".

As if on cue, the cart behind them shook slightly causing Malik to gasp before a small head of tousled black hair popped up from inside the cart and leant over the side. Malik relaxed as he saw it was just Kadar.

"What are you doing, Malik? I've been looking everywhere for-", he noticed Altair and stopped. His eyes widened as he raised a hand from the hay and pointed it at him. Altair simply raised an eyebrow."You... I know you. You're the one that chased those village boys away and threatened to assassinate them in their sleep if they didn't give me my coins back".

Malik stared at Altair, was this true? The other boy stared back and said, "What? I wasn't actually going to kill them, just...intimidate them a little. That reminds me...", he reached into a small pouch he wore on the front of his trousers and pulled out two bronze coins. "Hold onto these, they won't be bothering you again. And if they do, tell them you know the son of Umar. That should send them on their way", he smiled.

Malik continued to stare, had Altair always been this violent? How had he not noticed in the two days they'd spent together?

He shook his head and stood up. "Come on, Kadar. We'd better go home". He felt strange just saying it, could it really be considered their home now? Not really but it's not like they had another choice short of sleeping on the streets, so he took his brother's hand and smiled a goodbye to his friend, "See you tomorrow".

Altair waved him goodbye as he stood and dusted himself off before walking away in the opposite direction, towards the centre of the village while Malik and Kadar made their way back to the edge.

The pitying looks they received din't go unnoticed but Malik just pretended not to see them. They marched right through the village and reached their house in record time. They made their way inside and into the kitchen. Malik checked the barrels held in the store cupboard but found nothing edible, He sighed and reached up on top of a rather high shelf, standing on his toes, and managed to pull down a small basket.

Inside, was two loafs of bread, a wheel of cheese, some salad and vegetables and a chunk of cooked meat that would soon go off if it had not already. He remembered preparing this meal for his father a few days ago but decided it wouldn't be much use to his father now. They split the meal between themselves, though neither boy was particularly hungry and so they both climbed the stairs and curled up on Malik's bed and attempted to fall asleep.

It didn't take Kadar long but Malik found himself awake throughout most of the night. If it wasn't for the heavy exercise he'd done earlier that day, he was sure he wouldn't have felt the need to sleep at all and would have stayed awake right through the night and the whole of the next day after that.

Eventually, the muscled fatigue and heavy eye-lids proved too much as Malik drifted into a dreamless sleep. His last thought; 'rest well. son of none'.

* * *

Woo! I've written another chapter! :D

Okay, so a few quick notes;

Babaan means daddy.

Although Syd means Mister, it can also mean sir so the sentence did make sense...sort of.

In the last chapter, I tried not to include measurements of time because they didn't have them back then but in this chapter, I just thought 'fuck it' because saying "they sat for an hour" is a fact, it doesn't mean that they knew it was an hour, if you know what I mean. So yeah, I included a few mentions of the word "minute" in this chapter instead of referring to the sun's place in the sky.

The workout is a real workout. Appropriately called the Assassin workout, And, just as I've done ridiculous amounts of research on Syria and the 12th century throughout the last two chapters, I thought it wasn't really a good idea to write about something until I had first hand knowledge or experience of it myself so I've been doing the workout exactly as described here and writing little notes afterwards which I added into the story. However, I didn't get a chance to do the workout today so I'm going to do it twice tomorrow *groan*.

Also, a funny story about the workout (sorta); so I decided to start doing it so I wrote down my schedule but then I realised, I couldn't write that it was my schedule for the Assassin workout because my mum already thinks (knows) that I'm overly obsessed with the game so after a bit of thought, I renamed it the KOSSON workout. Little does she know that KOSSON stands for "King of Swords, Son of None" which is on translation of Malik and Altair's names lol. Sorry mum! :3

I've also experienced loss so I wrote Malik a lot like myself in the scene where he copes with his father's death. Sorry. I tried writing him more like his game self at first but then he seemed so weird. Like young Malik wouldn't wish for the death of his father's friends like when he thought it was 'only fair' for Altair to die for not preventing his brother's death. And young Malik wouldn't scream abuse at them, especially not over the death of someone he barely interacted with - his father would have been away a lot and seems like a strict person. Also, I feel like Malik would have been closer to his mother. I reckon he had/has a much deeper bond with Kadar as well.

And I tried to make Altair sort of cocky and arrogant in this chapter and a little more like his grown up self but I think I sort of failed.

Anyway, it's really hot right now and I'm actually so tired even though I've literally done nothing all day, so I'm just going to stop here.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please don't forget to leave a review telling me what you think. :3

Vale,

Vitacazzo


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